“I’d like to say it’s not that simple, but...” I scratched my forehead. “Maybe it really is just that. I don’t really know, though.” “Poor thing,” she whimpered, like a 7-year-old sister consoling her 5-year- old brother. “Is that why you’ve gotten so thin in the past month, too?” “Have I gotten that skinny?” “Yeah. Not even exaggerating, you look totally different. Your hair’s so long, and your whiskers are really something, and you’re skinny as a pole, and your eyes are sullen.” It seemed obvious, and I guess it was. Not leaving the apartment meant I hadn’t eaten nearly anything but snacks to go with my beer. Some days I didn’t even eat anything solid. Looking at my legs, I noticed that thanks to my lack of walking anywhere, they were as thin as a bedridden patient’s. And having not spoken to anyone in so long, I didn’t realize all my drinking had made my voice so hoarse; it didn’t sound like my voice at all. “You’re really pale, too. Like a vampire who hasn’t sucked any blood in a month.” “I’ll check the mirror later,” I remarked while feeling around my eyes. “You might not see anyone in it.” “If I’m a vampire, yeah.” “That was the idea,” she smiled, grateful for me playing along with her joke. “So anyway, what about you? Why won’t you leave your room?” The art student put her watering can down at her feet and leaned on the right side of her veranda toward me. “I’ll save that for later. For now, I just thought of something really good,” she told me with a friendly smile. “That’s good,” I agreed. That night, as part of her really good idea, we left the apartment dressed in the fanciest clothes we could dig up. I wore a jacket and one-wash denim jeans. The art student wore a navy